


Make It Home

by doctor__idiot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x22 "Who We Are", Cuddling, Episode Related, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 04:32:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10983453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: “I needed this,” Dean says. It’s the first thing he’s said since Mary excused herself and retired to her room.





	Make It Home

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of writing the actual prompt I'm supposed to write I wrote this because I'm still emotional.
> 
> Title from Emmylou Harris's "My Father's House".

“I needed this,” Dean says. 

It’s the first thing he’s said since Mary excused herself and retired to her room.

It’s still strange, having her here, unfamiliar in a way Sam feels it shouldn’t be. But it was good to hold her in his arms like that, safe and sound, after such a long time of worrying.

Sam has kept his hand around Dean’s back, has refused to let go for the past ten minutes. Dean doesn’t move away from him. He is shifting on his feet, tired, sluggish movements, exhaustion visible in his eyes, and Sam nudges him.

“Come on,” he says, steering his brother out of the library and down the hallway.

It’s been a rough day, rougher than most but not as bad as some they’ve had and Dean is a little too responsive, a little too pliant. It’s disconcerting. Sam frowns.

When they reach Dean’s room, Sam doesn’t thing twice about following in after Dean. He makes a detour to the bathroom to grab the first-aid kit. “Take off your shirt,” he instructs, “I wanna check you out.”

Dean’s perched on the edge of the memory foam mattress and he grins up at Sam at the words but he doesn’t hesitate before stripping his clothes off. 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Perv. Not like that.”

Dean’s still smiling, softer now. “Exactly like that, Sammy.”

Sam refrains from commenting further, mostly because Dean’s not wrong, and kneels on the floor between his brother’s thighs. He runs his palms along Dean’s ribs, checking for fractures under the superficial bruises. His fingertips find Dean’s clavicle and he strokes up to Dean’s jaw, runs his thumb gently over the split bottom lip and Dean breathes out warmly against Sam’s fingers.

“You think you got a concussion?” he asks, angling Dean’s face up to the light to look at his eyes. Dean gently twists out of his grip and shakes his head. His gaze finds Sam’s and he just stares for a moment, the corner of his mouth still slightly curled upward and Sam is tempted to ask ‘What?’ but speech escapes him.

“I shouldn’t have let you go alone,” Dean says suddenly just as Sam’s pouring anti-septic onto a cotton swab.

Sam makes a point of shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly even though nonchalance is the last thing he feels upon hearing the roughness in his brother’s voice.

“I’m back,” he says, raising his hand to carefully dab away the blood around Dean’s mouth and nose, “It’s done.”

Dean holds still while Sam brushes the cotton swab over the cut in his cheek. Barely even flinches. Voice thick, he returns, “I know.”

Sam cleans the last of bit of dried blood off Dean’s eyebrow, “There, all done,” and swallows hard when Dean catches his hand in his own, pressing it against his cheek. He turns his head just a fraction, his lips brushing over the heel of Sam’s thumb.

It’s such a telling, vulnerable gesture that Sam is almost afraid to breathe for fear of disturbing the moment, making Dean pull away. 

Dean exhales heavily and Sam relaxes. “We did it,” he says after a moment, smiling in spite of himself.

He knows it’s not over yet, they’re not out of the woods by a long shot, and Dean knows it, too, but neither of them says anything for a moment.

Dean’s fingers slide down to Sam’s wrist, encircling it loosely, and he says quietly, “Come sleep with me,” voice hardly more than an innocent whisper and too close to pleading and Sam can’t help it, he leans forward and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist.

Dean’s breath hitches, a small jerky movement of his naked ribcage against Sam’s clothed one, and Sam squeezes him, presses a kiss against the underside of his jaw. “Give me a moment.”

He does a perfunctory wash in the bathroom and rids himself off all his clothes apart from his underwear before crawling into the bed that’s technically too narrow for two men of their size. But they’ve always been too wrapped up in each other to need much space, literally and figuratively.

“What happened at the headquarters?” Dean asks as he pillows his head in the crook of Sam’s elbow, his fingers tracing the line of Sam’s collarbone.

Sam doesn’t see a point in sugarcoating it. “Jody shot Hess.”

Dean chuckles, “God, I love that woman,” and it makes Sam snort in return.

They settle down, settle into each other, Sam’s left leg pressed in between both of Dean’s, still keeping that arm wrapped around him, not letting go any time soon. He can feel the curve of Dean’s spine, can feel the muscles in Dean’s back move against his hold whenever Dean shifts.

“You got mom back,” Sam says, “I haven’t thanked you for that yet. That's–Wow. You’re good.”

There’s a tiny laugh from Dean. His mouth stretches into a grin, lips moving against the stubble on Sam’s chin. “I’m awesome.”

Sam breathes, “Yeah,” because it’s true and he has nothing to add.

Or maybe he does. “I love you.” It’s almost too loud in the silent darkness of the room but he needs to make sure Dean hears.

There’s only a second’s hesitation when Dean says, “I know,” and it sounds like he means it. It’s good enough for Sam.

He admits, “I like saying it.”

That grin again. “I know that, too.”

Sam waits for the inevitable ‘girly’ comment but it never comes. He starts to think Dean has fallen asleep but then he moves again, sliding a little further down so he can bury farther into the hollow of Sam’s neck. Sam turns his head a little so he doesn’t end up with spiky blond hair in his nostrils and doesn’t hold back the sigh of contentment.

“Girl,” Dean whispers, all sleepy, and Sam smiles. Thinks, ‘There it is.’


End file.
